


press it to your lips like a brand

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Open Marriage, Trapped In A Closet, Undercover Missions, god idk what to even say about this fic its just uh. its just two homies in a closet, makeout fic, thats a really funny tag to put on this fic without context but it makes sense i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28803882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "If they find us snooping around this part of the building, we're dead," Skywalker hisses."I know," Rex snaps back, tugging at his collar and forcing his brain to stay on track. Being shoved into a storage closet with his General but inches in front of him is not the most conducive thing to coherent planning, it turns out.He swallows. He had been trying not to think about it.
Relationships: CT-7567 | Rex & Anakin Skywalker, CT-7567 | Rex/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 153
Collections: Anonymous





	press it to your lips like a brand

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in the span of like two days to put off writing another much longer fic and now im forced to bear my sins. i have never made out with anyone so apologies if this is like, wildly inaccurate or anything i'm just sitting here spitting words onto the screen man

It had started, as most things do, very inconspicuously: The Jedi Council had sent them on an intelligence operation, and after some hasty planning they’d managed to talk their way into a very fancy, surprisingly lively high-society party where they’d be able to brush shoulders with some of the people involved, and Rex had quickly figured out that they’d meant the kind of _high-society_ where people made faux-friendly small-talk and sipped bubbly liquors to distract from the gambling chips and drug patches they were slipping to each other under the table.

Thusly, they’d ended up taking a look around the lesser-inhabited areas of the venue, and thusly, they’d found some _very_ interesting data chips, and _thusly_ ,

They’d ended up jammed in a closet together, of course. 

"If they find us snooping around this part of the building, we're dead," Skywalker hisses.

"I _know_ ," Rex snaps back, tugging at his collar-- _kriff_ these fancy dress-clothes-- and forcing his brain to stay on track. Being shoved into a storage closet with his General but inches in front of him is not the most _conducive_ thing to coherent planning, it turns out. 

He swallows. He had been trying not to think about it. 

Skywalker’s right, though— if someone finds them here, now, they’ll be in deep _osik._ Rex only has a small pistol in his jacket, and Skywalker left his lightsaber behind altogether in favor of an intricate, layered dress. The deep, vibrant reds strikingly accentuate his form, which hasn’t helped Rex’s focus level in the slightest. 

Skywalker, presently, is searching around the dark closet for another way out, an access vent, anything. The footsteps of one of the patrons-- or one of the staff, if they’re unlucky, which they absolutely are, are slowly approaching down the hall towards them, another nail in their coffins with every echoing _click_.

They both know that there’s no way to reasonably bluff their ways back to the party from here without looking _incredibly_ suspicious. If they were anyone else, they might have taken a shot at pretending to be lost ( _very_ lost), but neither Rex nor his General have ever been particularly good at lying. So, it leaves them stuck together in a closet, like kriffing teenagers sneaking away from a party to-- 

To make out. Oh. 

"I might have an idea," Rex blurts out, and then sucks in a breath. Kriff, what is he _doing_? 

"This better be good, Rex."

"You're gonna hate me," he replies, mind spinning. 

"How _much_?" Skywalker hisses, tilting his head to better listen to the footsteps still clicking down the hall towards them. 

"Not enough to stop me," Rex croaks, and reaches an arm out to hook his General's collar and pull him forward. He sees Skywalker's eyes widen slightly, can feel his pulse racing from where his knuckles curl against the man's neck. They’re still undercover. It’s for the mission. 

He could be decommissioned for this. He doesn’t let go.

"Rex--" 

"Trust me," he breathes, and the footsteps come to an abrupt halt outside the closet door. 

There's a singular, frozen moment of silence, and then the door handle turns, and before he can think better of it Rex leans forward and presses their mouths together. 

After, he recalls that a sliver of light had turned the pitch behind his closed eyes to a dull orange, and he thinks he had heard some noise of surprise-- an apology, probably, followed by a laugh?-- and just as quickly they'd been thrown into darkness again, but presently Rex is far, _far_ too distracted by the General's lips sliding against his. 

Thank the _gods_ , he had seemed to catch onto what Rex was doing quickly, hands at his shoulders, then his neck, then one at his waist, pulling them closer together. His breath is sweet and hot against Rex’s mouth, and he makes a small, needy noise in the back of his throat as he pushes forward, deepening the kiss. 

Rex’s back hits the wall of the closet, and it jolts him abruptly and unkindly back into reality. He pulls back, and a chill runs through him at the sudden absence of warmth against his mouth. 

He slowly opens his eyes, not sure what he’s expecting to find in front of him. 

Skywalker’s collar is wildly askew and his hair is ruffled from where Rex had been carding his hand through it and he is looking at Rex with _fire_ in his eyes and Rex thinks that they won’t have to bother decommissioning him after all, because he might just die right here anyway.

“ _Rex…_ ” he breathes, leadingly. Rex feels a shiver pour down his spine.

“We’ve got a cover story now,” he says hoarsely, probably unhelpfully. Skywalker’s-- his _General’s_ arms are still wrapped around him. He’s kriffing _married_ , for hell’s sake. Rex shouldn’t let himself be this selfish. He doesn’t move away.

“Not yet.”

“Sir?” 

Skywalker chuckles slightly at that. “Don’t call me sir while we’re _compromised_ , Rex, it’s _weird_ ,” he says, humor clear in his tone and in the smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Just call me Anakin. We’re supposed to be undercover, remember?”

Rex manages to nod in lieu of a response, face burning. 

His General sobers quickly again, though. “What I’m saying is, if we go back now, we’ll have to _look_ like we’ve been…” he trails off. _Oh_.

He briefly rakes his eyes over Skyw-- over _Anakin_ again, he allows himself, and concedes the point. He looks more like he’s just gotten caught in a strong wind than he’s… well. 

“So-- you’re saying we…”

Anakin tilts his head to the side, his hand still on the back of Rex’s neck. He raises his eyebrows ever-so-slightly, gaze still locked with Rex’s own; a clear question.

_Can I?_

Rex swallows roughly, tilts his chin up in the barest nod.

 _Yes_.

Anakin pulls him in, and then they’re melting into each other again. Rex feels him shudder as he rolls his lower lip between his teeth, and then a tongue presses into his mouth and his mind whites out momentarily.

After what might be seconds or hours, he breaks off, trailing fervent lips down Anakin’s neck to gently bite down, sucking a bruise into the tender skin there. 

“ _Kriff_ , Rex,” Anakin breathes, his fingers digging into Rex’s lower back, and the sheer thrill that spikes through Rex spurs him to pull himself back up, press their lips together again, kiss him bolder, hungrier. 

Anakin drags teeth down his neck, deftly undoing the top buttons of his collar until he can push it aside and press his mouth to the crook of his neck, his collarbone, applying just enough pressure to make Rex’s mind sing with the pinpricks of pain. 

He tangles a hand in his General’s-- _his_ General’s, _Anakin’s_ hair, greedily pulls him to his mouth again, heady and intoxicated with the thrill of it all, desperate for more, more.

Anakin is pliant, moving against him, body humming in perfect tune. Far too short a time later, though, Rex forces himself to pull back, swaying a little on his feet despite himself. 

Anakin, for what it’s worth, certainly does _look_ the part now, and Rex files that image into the very particular and well-organized box of things in his mind that he is _absolutely_ not allowed to continue thinking about. 

“I think we’re-- I think we should head back now,” he says, suddenly feeling awash with something akin to shame. 

Anakin clears his throat. “I guess so,” he agrees, sounding somewhat winded, and takes his hands off of Rex’s waist. It feels oddly light in their absence, like he’s no longer properly grounded.

Rex tries to clasp his collar with shaky hands for long enough that Anakin gently bats his hands aside and does it up himself in half the time Rex’d spent fumbling. 

“Thanks,” he manages, and Anakin gives him a mischievous grin in return, running hands through his hair until it looks halfway presentable.

“After you,” he says, gesturing to the closet door, and Rex winces in the light as he steps out into the hallway. It feels too cold, too exposed. He misses the warm haze of the closet. 

Anakin steps out behind him, and after a moment offers Rex his elbow. When Rex looks at him questioningly, he raises an eyebrow. Cover. Right. He takes his arm, and wills the blush off of his face.

“You know, Rex,” Anakin-- _kriff_ , it’s still odd to call him that-- says conversationally as they walk down the hall together, “Padme and I _are_ in an open marriage.”

“Oh?” 

Anakin quirks an eyebrow at him. “Do you know what that is?”

“Can’t say I do. _Marriage_ education wasn’t exactly the top of our training programs,” Rex responds, hastily cutting himself off before he can follow it with his customary _sir_.

Anakin’s smile almost seems to turn a little sad at that. “I guess it wouldn’t be. An open marriage is when two or more people are devoted to each other, but still see other people outside of that. With each other’s consent, of course,” he explains, throwing in a wink for good measure, because of course he does.

Rex’s throat suddenly feels dry. “That’s… interesting.”

“Isn’t it?” Anakin says cheerfully, as they approach the noise and bustle of the populated rooms again, preparing themselves for whatever may lie ahead.

“Very,” Rex responds. 

His mind is still spinning, alight with emotions and possibilities, but he puts them aside for the time being. He has a mission to finish; and a party to attend.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! :]


End file.
